


Thongs of His Own Soul

by sharkie335



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to say yes, and he wants to say no.  Thankfully, Rodney doesn't require a yes - his presence here is consent enough.  And he won't say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thongs of His Own Soul

Rodney always knows what John needs.

John isn't sure how he knows - whether it's the way the constellations appear in the sky or something in his behavior - but he does. And he's not shy about doing something about it.

Rodney shoves him up against the wall outside the armory, leaving John surprised and gasping and more than a little worried that Bates is going to come out. Before he can struggle, Rodney hisses in his ear, "My room. Now."

Opening his mouth to argue, John doesn't even get one word out before Rodney is kissing them away. When he pulls back, John nods, once, shakily. Rodney nods back, and then steps away, pulling his jacket down ineffectually.

People passing them in the halls shoot John sympathetic glances as they walk, because Rodney is talking a mile a minute about the discoveries coming out of the lab. Some of them actually sound interesting, but John's head isn't in the conversation.

John's head is, in fact, falling into that space where anything Rodney does feels good. He trusts Rodney to not go too far, to give him what he needs and Rodney rewards that trust every time, pushing John a little further, a little harder.

Right now he needs that push, with Teyla and Ronon both lying in the infirmary, injured on what should have been a routine mission. But they all know there's no such thing as routine in the Pegasus galaxy. Sometimes John needs to be reminded of that - he just wished that it wasn't accompanied by injuries to his team.

They get to Rodney's quarters, and as soon as the door closes, John is stripping out of his clothes. He doesn't think he can bear the feel of his uniform against his skin a moment longer.

As soon as he's naked, he sinks to his knees, ignoring the way the right one aches at the contact with the floor, relic of a mission where the natives didn't take kindly to his smile.

Rodney is still in a way that he rarely is, watching as John settles. There's time for a breath, maybe two, and then he's moving, tangling his hand in John's hair and tugging his head back. John goes willingly, looking up at Rodney through his lashes, gasping as his hand tightens enough to bring pinpricks of pain to his eyes.

"You want this." It's a statement, not a question, so John doesn't answer. Besides, his body is answering enough - his cock more than half hard, his nipples tight on his chest, his breathing picking up. Rodney's voice softens. "You're a slut. Of course you want this. Kirk of the Pegasus galaxy."

John could argue with him. The only person he sleeps with - the only one he's interested in sleeping with - is Rodney, and besides, Kirk would never have gone to his knees for anyone. John doesn't have that issue; he _likes_ being on his knees for Rodney. But there's no point in arguing; he kind of likes being called a slut by Rodney.

Instead, he opens his mouth and licks his lips suggestively. He really wants to suck Rodney off, and he's more than a little satisfied at the way that Rodney's eyes glaze over. But they clear just as quickly and Rodney tugs him to his feet by the hand in hair, pulling him in for a harsh kiss that leaves him breathless and close to begging already.

He swallows it down, and when Rodney releases his hair, he sways drunkenly for a moment, trying to regain his balance. Rodney is undoing his belt and sliding it free of the loops, and he closes his eyes. He wants to say yes, and he wants to say no. Thankfully, Rodney doesn't require a yes - his presence here is consent enough. And he won't say no.

"John? I'm waiting." And he is, he's got the belt doubled over in his fist and he's backed up to give John a clear path to the bed. John stumbles over his own feet, making his way to the bed, where he bends over the side and rests his weight on his hands.

The first strike is soft, almost gentle, and he looks back over his shoulder. It's not like Rodney at all, who cuts to the bone with his words. The second is harder, bringing John up on his toes as he blows out a harsh breath.

He quickly loses count as blow after blow falls on his ass, his thighs. Rodney is muttering to himself, or maybe to John, but all John can really hear is the rush of blood in his ears. Suddenly, there's a lot more force behind the belt, and John can feel the tears running down his face, even though he doesn't think he's actually crying.

The belt clatters to the floor, and Rodney is pressed up tight behind him, pulling him upright and into a hug. "It's not your fault, John. It's really not. Everyone will be fine in the morning."

And it's not true, but it sounds so good, like something he can believe if he tries hard enough. John lets himself cling to Rodney, to his belief and his strength. Tomorrow, it might be Rodney here, on his knees, but for right now, Rodney is being the strong one.

Rodney holds him tight, soothes him back down till John feels like he can breathe without breaking into a million scattered pieces. When John finally calms, he pushes back into Rodney's grip, feeling his cock hard against his ass, burning through his uniform. "Please, Rodney."

For a few more moments, Rodney holds him, hands moving freely over his body. Then he's released. "Get on the bed, John. Hands and knees."

John crawls up on the bed, letting his head drop down to rest on his crossed arms, leaving his ass high in the air. He can hear Rodney stripping out of his uniform, and then there's silence for a long moment. "God, you're beautiful like this." Rodney's voice catches on the words.

He doesn't feel beautiful. He feels a mess, too much body hair, tear tracks on his face, but he spreads his legs wider, hearing Rodney take a deep breath.

Then there's a sudden weight on the bed behind him, Rodney crawling up between his legs and forcing him to spread them even wider, so he feels the strain in his thighs and ass, skin pulling tight over welts left from the belt.

Rodney's hands are teasing and too light, but they feel good on the hot skin of his ass. When Rodney pulls his cheeks apart and darts in a light kiss over his entrance, his breath hitches. They haven't showered, and John wants to say no, that he's all sweaty, but Rodney clearly doesn't care.

Broad pressure swipes across his hole, and he moans at the rush of sensation. Again and again it happens, and John knows that Rodney's getting him wet, getting him ready for more. Even knowing that, he almost squeals when Rodney's tongue, wet and thick and strong, starts to move inside of him.

His breath is heaving in his chest, and all he can feel is what Rodney is doing with his tongue. That's where all of his focus is at, so he doesn't notice that one of Rodney's hands has moved until a finger works its way inside, pressing hard on his hot spot.

John's head comes up, and he's begging before he realizes what's happening. "Please, Rodney, _please_ fuck me. Need it, need you, _please_."

Rodney's tongue slides out of him, his finger staying in place, and John whimpers. He knows that it makes no sense, but he doesn't care. Rodney rubs his face against John's cheek, rough with stubble, and a second finger slides inside him. "I've got you, John. You need to just calm down, because you can't do anything but. Just. Take. It." Each word is punctuated by another thrust of Rodney's talented fingers.

He groans and drops his head again, trying to relax as Rodney finger fucks him into oblivion. He wants to come, wants the relief that will come with an orgasm, but he doesn't want to have it end just yet.

Just as it becomes clear that orgasm isn't going to be optional for much longer, the fingers slide out of him, making him feel empty. At the same time, Rodney pulls back, leaving him cold and abandoned. John can't help the whimper.

But Rodney retreats a little farther. "Turn over, John. I want to see your face when I fuck you."

John's body doesn't want to cooperate, so it takes him a moment to sort out his arms and legs so he can turn over. Flat on his back, he looks up at Rodney, who's got one hand on his dick and the other hovering so close over John's leg that he can feel the heat.

When he spreads his legs wide, Rodney swallows hard, but doesn't say anything, instead reaching for the tube of lubricant they keep on the nightstand. John can't stop himself from reaching for the tube, and when Rodney gives it up, he squirts a little into his hand, spreading it over Rodney's cock, making them both hiss at the sensation.

As soon as Rodney's covered in the slick, John lies back and cants his hips. Rodney smiles, and lifts one of his legs over his shoulder, wrapping the other around his waist. Then there is broad pressure against his hole, as the head of Rodney's cock presses.

John could almost cry as he's finally, _finally_ , filled, it feels so fucking good. That turns to an urge to swear when he realizes that Rodney isn't moving, and he's pinned in place, can't move. "Come on, Rodney, move!"

"No. Not until you admit that what happened on the planet wasn't your fault." And John hadn't been thinking about that at all, except that maybe in the deepest parts of him he was and he really wishes he could hate Rodney sometimes. Especially when he's making him face things that he'd much rather deny.

"Fine, fine, it wasn't my fault." But John knows he doesn't mean it, and so does Rodney, so he tries clenching his muscles in the hopes that that will distract him. Rodney gasps and shakes, but still doesn't move.

He whines, hating the sound even as he makes it, "Rodney, please," but Rodney is implacable, looking him in the face. Finally, John can't stand anymore and turns his face to the side, looking at the wall. "I know it wasn't my fault, Rodney."

Something in his voice tells Rodney that he knows, that he really means it this time, because Rodney starts to move. Slowly at first, gradually picking up speed and depth, until he's nailing John's prostate on every thrust, making him moan and writhe beneath Rodney's comforting weight.

When Rodney rears up and wraps a still slick hand around his cock, John whimpers. After all the lead up, he's hard as steel and dripping wet, and it's all he can do not to cry out loud. But Rodney is stripping him, hard and fast, and when he slams into John hard and says, "Now, John, give it up for me," John can't hold it back.

The orgasm that's been building in his spine slams through him with the force of a hurricane, blinding him to anything but the twin sensations of Rodney's hand on his dick and his cock in his ass.

Rodney nurses him through the aftershocks; till John is limp and over-sensitized, and only then does he realize that Rodney hasn't come yet. He moves a little, and Rodney gasps, obviously on edge, but he's pulling out, leaving John confused.

"Rodney?"

Rodney's hand is moving blindingly fast on his cock, even as he's knee walking his way up over John's chest. "John? Can I - " and only then does John realize what Rodney wants.

"Oh, god, yes."

"Close - close your eyes," and even though he wants to watch Rodney come, he's helpless before that voice, so he closes his eyes even as the first drops of wetness stain his cheeks.

Rodney crumples into a heap next to John, one leg still draped over his chest. "God, you look hot like that." John can feel the flush in his face, but he doesn't turn his face away, and is rewarded by Rodney's thumb tracing under his eye. "You can open your eyes now. I didn't actually hit them."

John opens his eyes, and looks over at Rodney, who's looking a little dumbstruck. Needing to break the tension in the room, he pushes playfully at Rodney's knee. "Think you could move this so I can breathe?"

Rodney snorts, but shifts so that he's lying on his side, his arms wrapped protectively around John. "Feeling better?"

John squirms a little. His ass is still burning from Rodney's belt, he's been well fucked, but emotionally he feels about a thousand percent better. He doesn't want to say that, though, because he doesn't want to feel like he's in a chick flick. Instead he just smiles.

Rodney smiles back.

It's enough.


End file.
